Doctor Luke of the Labrador | Page 7

is yet for us all a refuge, which,
by way of the heart, they find who seek.
* * * * *
And I fell asleep in my mother's arms, and by and by my big father
came in and laughed tenderly to find me lying there; and then, as I have
been told, laughing softly still they carried me up and flung me on my
bed, flushed and wet and limp with sound slumber, where I lay like a
small sack of flour, while together they pulled off my shoes and
stockings and jacket and trousers and little shirt, and bundled me into
my night-dress, and rolled me under the blanket, and tucked me in, and
kissed me good-night.
When my mother's lips touched my cheek I awoke. "Is it you, mama?" I
asked.
"Ay," said she; "'tis your mother, lad."
Her hand went swiftly to my brow, and smoothed back the tousled, wet
hair.
"Is you kissed me yet?"

"Oh, ay!" said she.
"Kiss me again, please, mum," said I, "for I wants--t' make sure--you
done it."
She kissed me again, very tenderly; and I sighed and fell asleep,
content.

IV
THE SHADOW
When the mail-boat left our coast to the long isolation of that winter
my mother was even more tender with the scrawny plants in the five
red pots on the window-shelf. On gray days, when our house and all the
world lay in the soggy shadow of the fog, she fretted sadly for their
health; and she kept feverish watch for a rift in the low, sad sky, and
sighed and wished for sunlight. It mystified me to perceive the wistful
regard she bestowed upon the stalks and leaves that thrived the
illest--the soft touches for the yellowing leaves, and, at last, the tear
that fell, when, withered beyond hope, they were plucked and cast
away--and I asked her why she loved the sick leaves so; and she
answered that she knew but would not tell me why. Many a time, too,
at twilight, I surprised her sitting downcast by the window, staring
out--and far--not upon the rock and sea of our harbour, but as though
through the thickening shadows into some other place.
"What you lookin' at, mum?" I asked her, once.
"A glory," she answered.
"Glory!" said I. "They's no glory out there. The night falls. 'Tis all
black an' cold on the hills. Sure, I sees no glory."
"'Tis not a glory, but a shadow," she whispered, "for you!"
Nor was I now ever permitted to see her in disarray, but always, as it

seemed to me, fresh from my sister's clever hands, her hair laid smooth
and shining, her simple gown starched crisp and sweetly smelling of
the ironing board; and when I asked her why she was never but thus
lovely, she answered, with a smile, that surely it pleased her son to find
her always so: which, indeed, it did. I felt, hence, in some puzzled way,
that this display was a design upon me, but to what end I could not tell.
And there was an air of sad unquiet in the house: it occurred to my
childish fancy that my mother was like one bound alone upon a long
journey; and once, deep in the night, when I had long lain ill at ease in
the shadow of this fear, I crept to her door to listen, lest she be already
fled, and I heard her sigh and faintly complain; and then I went back to
bed, very sad that my mother should be ailing, but now sure that she
would not leave me.
Next morning my father leaned over our breakfast table and laid his
broad hand upon my mother's shoulder; whereupon she looked up
smiling, as ever she did when that big man caressed her.
"I'll be havin' the doctor for you," he said.
She gave him a swift glance of warning--then turned her wide eyes
upon me.
"Oh," said my father, "the lad knows you is sick. 'Tis no use tryin' t'
keep it from un any more."
"Ay," I sobbed, pushing my plate away, for I was of a sudden no longer
hungry, "I heared you cryin' las' night."
My sister came quickly to my side, and wound a soft arm about my
neck, and drew my head close to her heart, and kissed me many times;
and when she had soothed me I looked up and found my mother
gloriously glad that I had cried.
"'Tis nothing," then she said, with a rush of tenderness for my grief.
"'Tis not hard to bear. 'Tis----"
"Ay, but," said my father, "I'll be havin' the doctor t' see you."

My mother pooh-poohed it all. The doctor? For her? Not she! She was
not sick enough for